The Pikachu Project
by Tear22
Summary: Pikachu was one of the first successful genetically engineered experiments by Team Rocket, and, under some unusual circumstances, is now trained by Ash Ketchum. Follow the story of what started it all.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Pikachu Project

Rating: PG - 13 for some violent content and language.

Summary: Pikachu was one of the first successful genetically engineered experiments by Team Rocket, and, under some unusual circumstances, is now trained by Ash Ketchum. Follow the story of what started it all.

A / N: This is a fanfic based around the theory that Giovanni is Ash's father, as was said in the stage show, Pokemon Live. Also, much of the reference is taken from the Japanese CD Drama. And, I refer to Pikachu as an "it" but I am aware that Pikachu is most likely a "he." **Read and REVIEW please! **

Disclaimer: I swear I don't own a thing, really…. The only things I own are my plastic Jessie and James dolls held high up on my T.V. for easy hero-worshipping access.

_"Its powers exceed its evolutionary level…"_ -- Meowth, Ash Catches A Pokemon

* * *

The Pikachu Project

By: Tear22

**Chapter One: The Beginning of The End**

"Pikachu?"

A number of Team Rocket scientists stood crowded around an operating table, pushing up against each other in an attempt to see what they had created, their ink pens beginning to stain through to the clipboards placed shakily in their bloodstained gloves.

"Pika?" the creation in question murmured, the cord tied around its neck making it increasingly difficult for it to breath.

At the sound of the Pikachu's small squeak the scientists immediately began writing, completely unaware of the fact that the Pokemon was indeed trying to escape. As its vision began to restore, it became aware of the people around it, immediately wrapping his tattered tail around its small body in an attempt to shield itself from any harm. It started gnawing slightly on the straps that held it down to the cold metal of the operating table, leaving small indents where its sharp teeth grinded against the elastic material.

"Sir," one of the members addressed the lead scientist, lightly tapping him on the shoulder. "The Pokemon," he said, pointing to the struggling Pikachu.

"Don't worry," he replied, giving the other scientist a casual flick of his wrist. "It's much too weak to possibly use an electric attack. But just to be on the safe side," he said, walking over to one of the nearby counters, "we'll put it to sleep." He pulled out a needle from one of the drawers, proceeding to inject the needle containing an aqua color liquid into the Pokemon's skin, leaving the injection to immediately take effect. The Pikachu slumped over, its fur rising and falling in ragged breaths.

"But Dr. Craig, sir," another member of the team protested, "shouldn't the Pokemon be awake to study?"

"No matter," he replied. In response to the other member's raised eyebrows, he added, "We just needed to make sure that it wasn't going to die," he said, pointing to a heart monitor that had started beeping rapidly when the Pikachu had first awoken. That indicated that this creation wasn't going to be like the rest of their failed attempts to create the Pokemon the Boss had been so insistent on.

"Speaking of which," he said, looking over his wire rim glasses to see several large body bags piled up in the corner of the laboratory. The stretched, bloodstained cloth covered up dead Pikachus, leaving several of the Pokemon's limp, gagged tails to poke out from under the red tinted fabric. "I think it's about time to take out the trash."

With this having been said, he proceeded to yell out "Grunt!" at the top of his voice, his loud tone being somewhat unexpected since he had such a small frame. And in a matter of seconds, a Rocket Grunt appeared by his side, surprisingly enough having had been allowed to stay in the laboratory throughout the experiments.

"I need you to take those failed experiments to the incinerator to be disposed of."

"But, sir –

"But nothing, Eric. Take the Pokemon to the incinerator. _Now_."

"Yes sir," the Grunt replied, lowering his head in defeat as he began to sling the body bags over his shoulder, stumbling slightly as he exited the laboratory.

* * *

"I hate this job," he thought, the dead Pikachus' foul odor making him wince slightly as he made his way to the incinerator, stumbling under the weight of the lifeless Pokemon.

Being the Grunt that "took out the trash" had made him rather unpopular among the Dan'in and he often was the first to have food slung at during the occasional food fights that would break out among the Grunts at the Team Rocket Headquarters cafeteria. Eric was often avoided at HQ's because not only did he dispose of deceased Pokemon, but humans as well, and he was frequently picked on for not only being the person felt responsible for getting rid of so many member's partners, but also because he technically was underage.

Being scarcely the age of ten, the only job the Boss felt suitable for him was to dispose of the dead humans and Pokemon. He also was slightly scared of not only the incinerator, but also the people that inhabit it. More than a dozen Rockets seemed to live at the incinerator, repeatedly attempting to jump in the fire to save their dead partner, even though their partner was very well burned more than a year ago. Many of them looked as if they hadn't eaten in quite sometime, and their hair messily stuck to their sweaty, pallid faces from the heat that emitted from inside the incinerator, which resembled a large laundry shoot from outside in the hallway. Eric half wondered why these Agents hadn't already been sent to the Rocket Asylum, seeing as they were unfit for any job the Boss might give them. He also didn't especially like seeing the sane ones either. Everyday he would have to try and console at least two mourners, and at times would have to open a body bag so they could give their final farewells, the dead member's pale fingers being wrapped around tightly to the mourner's. Eric had even learned somewhat of a priest's blessing, having had frequently been asked to bless the dead person, or rather what remained of the person's flesh once having been thrown into the fire.

As he reached the incinerator, he realized Margaret was there again, having had lost her partner a little over two weeks ago. She had been visiting the incinerator since her co-worker's death, and had seemingly been slipping away just like the regular visitors.

"H- Hello," she said, brushing away the darkened ash off her uniform. She had been peering in through the vent, and having to hold the hot metal of the incinerator's small door open for a number of what Eric guessed to be hours had left her white gloves a charcoal black color. Her pupils had been reduced to slits as she had watched the flames lick up a field agent that had been killed during a mission in the late hours of the previous night.

"Hi," he simply responded, beginning to stuff the body bags through the vent with some difficulty, one of the Pikachu's decaying tails nearly poking him in the eye. "How can you stand the smell _all_ day?" he asked, shielding his nose and mouth with his hand as he started to cough.

Although several air vents had been stored throughout the large incinerator, much of the odor penetrated through the main vent, leaving an awful smell of burning flesh throughout the hallway.

She gave no response.

"It looks like Hell, doesn't it?" she asked, more to herself than anyone.

"I'm afraid I've never seen Hell," he answered, stuffing the last of the body bags in through the heated vent. As he finished, he took a rusted key out from his pocket and had begun to lock the vent, as he was supposed to, until a swift tug on his shirt caused him to stop mid-turn.

"Please don't lock it," Margaret pleaded, her eyes immediately beginning to fill with tears.

"I'm sorry," he said, beginning to pry off her sweaty hand from his uniform, "I have to. The Boss was already getting on my case last week for forgetting to lock it, and would surely be mad if I forgot to lock it again."

She whimpered slightly, but nodded her head to indicate that she understood.

"Why don't you go back to your room?" he suggested, giving her an awkward but comforting pat on the shoulder with some difficulty, seeing as she was nearly two feet taller than he was.

"Yeah sure," she sighed, starting to make her way down the hallway, but nearly tripping on Derrick's leg. He was sitting down with his back against the wall, taking in short ragged breaths as he slept next to the incinerator's vent, his head rolling to one side. He too had recently lost his partner, Kelley, and had so obviously, but against the Boss' wishes, fallen in love with her.

He didn't stir as Margaret embarrassingly placed his leg back in the position it had been, and continued on her way to the third floor where her room was located.

* * *

Once Eric got back to the laboratory, he was in for quite a surprise. Many of the scientists were sprawled out on the floor, clutching their chests and gasping for air. Apparently, the Pikachu had woken up, even under such a heavy dose of medication, and had caused a great amount of trouble for the scientists. Some of the tables had overturned, and several areas had been showered with broken test tubes. Some of the shattered glass had cut into the member's skin, leaving bloodstains the size of handprints on the tiled floor. Pikachu was found sleeping underneath the operating table, looking relatively pleased with itself.

"I can't believe that thing," Dr. Craig was telling Eric, having had previously flung himself into an awkward sitting position on one of the chairs. "It's incredibly powerful."

"Well, I'm sure that's what the Boss wants for his fiancé," Eric said, flinching slightly as he said fiancé, still finding the concepts of girls in general a nasty one.

"Yes, of course. Delia Ketchum, that blasted girl he's been after ever since his mother gave him the position," he spat, hanging his head over the top of the chair and allowing several strands of his black hair to fall in his face. "She's more trouble than she worth."

"I suppose so," Eric said, bending over to look under the operating table, finding Pikachu still sleeping. "Shouldn't this thing be tied up, or something?" he asked, noticing electric sparks still emitting from the Pokemon's crimson cheeks.

"Yeah," he panted, " but we're getting some rest before we try to experiment on it again. We've put in under heavier medication, so it should be fine for a couple of hours…"

Over the next few days, loud shrieks of various ranges could be heard from the lab as well as several pieces of broken glass were hurled throughout the hallways when Pikachu decided on using electric attacks, ultimately shattering any glass in the laboratory.

The funny thing was that Giovanni stayed clear out of the picture until several of his underlings along with the lead scientist brought the struggling Pokemon into his office in a cage, the bars surrounding the Pikachu looking well worn from the various tackle attacks it used against the bars while desperately trying to escape.

"Boss," the lead scientist spoke up, pushing his glasses up along his nose, "we have the Pikachu you wanted."

"Well," Giovanni said, turning around in his chair, "it's about time you got that thing to me. I'm giving it to Delia as a wedding present, so you better have not screwed it up," he said, mindlessly stroking the gold wedding band wrapped tightly around his finger.

"We can assure you that…" He stopped speaking, taking notice that Pikachu had started nibbling on his hand that held the cage, frantically trying to break his skin. "…It's in great shape."

"Good."

Giovanni's Persian that had been sleeping suddenly woke up, its black and cream-colored ears perking to the squeaking sounds coming from the cage. It got up and stretched, its long, razor-like claws digging into the blood red carpet. It walked over to the cage causing both Pokemon and human to flinch slightly as it raised its tail defensively, batting it furiously as Pikachu squeaked, lowering its yellow ears to obscure the Persian from view.

"Hmph, it doesn't seem too tough considering it's scared of a cat," the Boss remarked, immediately pulling off a pokeball from his belt loop. "How about I battle it to see how great of a shape it's really in? We can always heal it later."

"Uh… sure," Dr. Craig sighed reluctantly, following the Boss to the upper level of the Headquarters: The Pokemon Gym.

* * *

So, how did you like it all so far? Reviews would speed up the writing process.

Till the next chapter,

Tear22


	2. All Is Fair

Title: The Pikachu Project

If you're thinking of sicking your lawyers on me, look at chapter one for a disclaimer.

Author's Notes: I had some real difficulty writing this chapter, seeing as how it focuses mainly on a Pokemon Battle. I had never really written one before, but I'm happy with the way it turned out.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far!

* * *

The Pikachu Project

By: Tear22

**Chapter Two: All's Fair In Love, War, And Pokemon Battles**

"This will be a one-on-one Pokemon battle against Giovanni and Dr. Craig," Eric shouted, who had once again been allowed the privilege to accompany the lead scientist. He held up two different colored flags for the respective side of the gym and the trainer.

"Giovanni," he yelled, swiftly pointing the scarlet colored flag in the Boss' direction, "will be using the Pokemon Cloyster, and Dr. Craig," he pointed the black colored flag toward the opposite end of the gym, "will be using the Pokemon Pikachu! No time limit. Are you both ready?"

Giovanni smirked and nodded, producing a red and white pokeball from his jacket pocket.

"Ready as I'll ever be…" Dr. Craig sighed, releasing the electric mouse from its cage. Once released, Pikachu bounded into the battle arena, surprising both Dr. Craig and Giovanni. It formed a fighting stance, sparks already beginning to form around its body.

"That's funny … I didn't think it would want to battle with me," Dr Craig said, ruffling his black hair in confusion.

"Adamant one, are you?" Giovanni sneered, tossing his pokeball with ease. A large Cloyster appeared in a flash of red light. "Well I have just the thing for you."

"Cloyster!" the Pokemon cried, opening and closing its large shell, all the while Pikachu showing little signs of fear.

"Let the battle begin!" Eric bellowed, crossing the flags across his chest than proceeding to strike both flags up in the air and in opposing directions.

Before any attacks were made, Dr. Craig made one last attempt to call the battle off. "Are you sure about this Boss?" he asked, meanwhile racking his brain for any remembrance of Pikachu's attacks.

"I think that's up for the Pokemon to decide, and it seems more than willing to fight to me," Giovanni replied, and Pikachu gave a sure "Chu!" to defend his answer.

"Alright," Dr. Craig gave in.

"I'll give you the honor of attacking first," Giovanni said, obliviously apparent of Dr. Craig's struggle to remember Pikachu's attacks.

A slight blush appeared on Dr. Craig's face as both Giovanni and Pikachu pressured him to call an order. "Oh, right!" he cried, snapping his fingers. He had been shocked by several of Pikachu's attacks in the past days, and he now knew which one to use. "Pikachu!" he called to the Pokemon, whose ears perked at the sound of its name, "use thundershock attack!"

"Pika!" the Pokemon cried, immediately producing several large bolts from its cheeks, directly aiming them at Cloyster.

"Cloyster," Giovanni said calmly, "withdraw." On command, the large shells surrounding the Pokemon closed up, ultimately avoiding any chance the electric attack had on inflecting damage. "Now use hyper beam."

Small beams of light began to form around the Pokemon's spike adorning its head, indicating that it was charging up for the attack.

"Pi!" Pikachu cried worriedly, turning around to face its temporary trainer, clearing asking what it should do.

"Uh, uh," Dr. Craig stammered, struggling to remember another attack, but not wanting to look any worse in the company of his employer, struck a defiant pose and called out, "u- use… double team!"

Rapidly, Pikachu began making duplicates of itself, each looking as real as the last. It spread out the doubles all around the borders of the arena, making the Cloyster rather confused. Cloyster looked around, not sure as to where it should direct its attack. But before it could make a decision, the hyper beam fired, hitting several of Pikachu's copies, each one fading away as it was hit.

"Pi pika!" all the duplicates shouted at once, circling the baffled Cloyster. Although the Pokemon had been training under Giovanni's command for a number of years, Cloyster had never seen any opponent that moved as swiftly as this one did.

"Now Pikachu," Dr. Craig shouted, once again pointing at the Pokemon with a newly acquired air of confidence, "use your quick attack!"

The Pokemon duplicates faded away into one, and with lightning speed, Pikachu struck the Cloyster, sending it back several feet along the gym's floor. It skidded to a halt near Giovanni, looking up at its trainer in disbelief. Giovanni glared at it, demanding that it get back into the battle at once. Cloyster entered the main part of the battle arena again, and without any word from its master, fired a bubble beam attack at its opponent.

"What the heck do you think you're doing!" Giovanni shouted to his Pokemon, balling his fists in anger at Cloyster's disobedience.

Nevertheless, the attack hit Pikachu, leaving its fur slightly damp from the bubble's liquid. Pikachu shook its body vigorously, spraying the soapy liquid out onto the gym's ground. It then started to groom itself, licking its paws furiously as Dr. Craig stood behind it in the trainer's area, looking slightly sick.

"Pikachu," he cried, beginning to pull at the tips of his gloves in nerves, "You don't have time for that!"

"Cloyster," Giovanni said in a somewhat calmer tone, "Use your supersonic attack."

"Ster," the Pokemon exclaimed as several small rings of yellow light emitted from its sharp spike. Pikachu continued to stand its ground, completely ignoring its temporary trainer's calls to dodge the attack as it nibbled its paw.

The attack hit Pikachu head on, leaving a cluster of small specks of blurred light in front of its vision. It swerved slightly, nearly collapsing on the ground as it stumbled on its tail.

"Now use hyper beam, Cloyster."

"Pikachu!" Dr. Craig called, waving his arms like that of a madman, "You have to snap out of it!"

Small light crystals began to form around the Cloyster's charcoal black spike again.

As Dr. Craig called out to Pikachu, the rodent took on a determined look in the midst of its confusion. Its pointed yellow ears raised and, thoroughly surprising both its trainer and Giovanni, unleashed a large amount of static energy, shattering the small windows throughout the gym.

Cloyster, having been hit with the full force of the electricity, collapsed, completely exhausted.

"I- It looks like Dr. Craig and Pikachu are the winners," Eric muttered at length. He pointed the black colored flag in Dr. Craig's direction, his eyes mingled with shock and pleasure.

Giovanni put a hand to his head and sighed, took out his Pokemon's ball, and with a slight grimace on his face withdrew Cloyster. And without a word, Giovanni, followed by an equally surprised Dr. Craig and Pikachu, exited the battle arena.

* * *

"You know why I called you in today?" Giovanni asked in an uncharacteristically calm voice, lacing his fingers together on the surface of his polished, wooden desk. 

"Yes sir," Dr. Craig responded, eyeing his Boss' Persian that was currently circling the caged Pikachu at his side.

"Now it has come to my recent concern that you might not meet what is required of someone of your position. You see, when employing agents I tend to look for someone with at least a decent knowledge of Pokemon, and someone of your status should surely by now know a great deal of not just Pokemon in general but their attacks as well. Perhaps I overlooked you when you employed." He chuckled to himself. "But that is highly unlikely."

"I'm aware of the that sir, but I --"

"And you did perform a full analyze of the Pokemon Pikachu before conducting all of your operations? Could it be that your many failures were a result of not having studied the Pokemon properly?"

"Sir, I can ensure you I gave all my time and effort into studying Pikachu as you asked," Dr. Craig stuttered, a slight blush spreading across his features as he realized the only proof that he had indeed done any research at all was now buried deep in his pocket, the small scrap of paper making a slight crinkling noise every time he walked a few feet.

"Of course," was the only reply Giovanni gave. "Well," he continued, directing a stern yet mildly pleased look toward Persian, who had wrapped its cream colored tail around one of the cage bars threateningly, "you _did_ manage to defeat me in a Pokemon battle. But it did seem to be somewhat of a fluke," he added, taking another sip from his wine bottle.

"Well, you know how these things are," he chuckled uneasily while shifting his hand around in his pocket in an attempt to further bury the piece of paper with a poorly drawn Pikachu on it.

The Boss quickly wiped the remaining wine from his pale lips, clearly knowing he had the upper hand in this small battle of the mind.

"William," Giovanni said, addressing Dr. Craig, keeping his cold brown eyes steadily focused on the line of his agent's throat, "you've disappointed me."

Dr. Craig took a surprised step backwards, nearly stepping on Persian's paw with the tip of his heel. Hardly anyone ever spoke to him using his first name – his proper first name, at that.

"I- I'm sorry sir," Dr. Craig stuttered, immediately realizing once he said those words that a simple "I'm sorry" wasn't nearly sufficient. He gave a small bow, allowing his glasses to slip to the end of his crooked nose. "You'll have to agree though sir," he said slowly, seeming to weigh each word carefully, "that the Pokemon was certainly in very good condition." He then added cautiously, "It did beat your Cloyster like you said, sir."

"Yes, yes it did…."

Dr. Craig breathed a small sigh of relief as Giovanni said this.

"_But_," he continued, cutting through Dr. Craig's moment of relief like a knife, "that seemed to be more of the Pikachu's doing, rather than your own."

Dr. Craig gave no response, instead merely removed his stare from his Boss to the floor, which he noticed had several patches of what he guessed to be bloodstains smeared throughout the carpet.

"And isn't that what you wanted sir?" Dr. Craig asked, now fixing his stare on one of the legs of his Boss' desk, becoming fully aware that he most likely shouldn't have begun to question Giovanni at all, "…A strong Pikachu?"

Giovanni tightened the grip on his laced fingers, looking as if he thoroughly wanted to instead wrap them around Dr. Craig's throat.

"That may be true," The Boss admitted, "but that does not make up for your lack of knowledge about the Pokemon. Therefore, you are being put on probation. Consider yourself lucky, William. You've proved yourself useful, otherwise I would have fired you," Giovanni's eyes glinted slightly, "right here on the spot."

"Thank you very much, sir," Dr. Craig said breathlessly, bowing to a point where he looked somewhat ridiculous.

"You will report to the loading and docking lot tomorrow at nine a.m. to deliver Pikachu to Delia's address. You understand me?" he added, as if his agent was unable to recognize human speech.

"Yes sir," he said confidently, picking up Pikachu's cage and freeing the bars from Persian's grasp. "I'll be there at nine a.m."

* * *

Ooh, what will happen to Dr. Craig and Pikachu? Would you like to know?

I bet you do. I can feel it.

So, send me some lovely, charming reviews and you'll find out!

Till Next Time,

Tear22


	3. A Delivery To Hell

Title: The Pikachu Project

If you're thinking of sicking your lawyers on me, look at chapter one for a disclaimer.

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, it really does make my day. Now, let's have a small recap so far, shall we? Dr. Craig, the Team Rocket scientist in charge of creating genetically engineered Pokemon, has just recently been given the duty to deliver Pikachu to Delia's house, but has also been put on probation for his lack of knowledge about Pikachu.

Ooh, let's see what happens next! And please **review** when finished! ...I've noticed that this fic has had over two hundred hits, but only has around 20 reviews so far. But, hey, that's still good! Thanks everyone!

* * *

The Pikachu Project

By: Tear22

**Chapter Three: A Delivery To Hell**

"Do have any idea what time it is?" Eric asked Dr. Craig, who had previously entered the Team Rocket cafeteria to eat breakfast. "Weren't you supposed to meet the Boss at nine?" he said, taking a seat next to his fellow agent, whose expression had gone from calm to that of complete terror.

"I…what?" Dr. Craig asked, a piece of his jellied toast slipping out of his gaping mouth.

"Be there at nine," Eric responded with a tone of exasperation, "I'm supposed to be there at 10:00 to help you deliver the Pikachu as well with some other Team Rocket Grunts," he finished, tapping the glass face of his watch impatiently.

"What… What time is it now?" he asked, slipping Pikachu a bit of bacon through the cage bars, who immediately ripped the greasy meat from Dr. Craig's hand and nibbled his hand affectionately.

Eric leaned forward slightly and cupped his gloved hands to Dr. Craig's ear and whispered in a barely audible voice, "It's 9:40."

"It's _what_!" Dr. Craig shrieked, standing up so abruptly that he caused his chair to fall backwards, landing on the cold tile with a loud clang. "I was supposed to be there forty minutes ago!"

"Exactly," Eric said, a sly smile spreading across his pale lips, "And if my resources serve me right, you're already on probation, aren't you?"

"Dang it!" Dr. Craig yelled, pulling at several strands of his straight, charcoal black hair, "I can't believe this!"

"I'd get going if I were you," Eric said, starting to mindlessly twirl the straw that was in Dr. Craig's half drunken cup of orange juice. "…Nice slippers," he added and smirked, lightly prodding the other agent's shoe with his own, "_Sir_."

Dr. Craig had gone to the cafeteria with the impression that he would be able to eat, go to his room and change his clothes, and go to meet the Boss at nine. Since he had miscalculated the time, he was now running down the corridor toward the loading and docking lot, his bedroom slippers squeaking against the tiled floor impatiently and his gray undershirt clinging to his now sweaty body.

He reached the door and wrapped his slim fingers around the polished handle and wrenched the door open, slamming it, and left the other people in the corridor with a mildly alarmed expression on their faces.

"I'm here sir!" he bellowed, his voice carrying throughout the entire lot. He realized, however, that the only other occupants in the lot were two field agents who looked up at him as they were loading a truck; several large bags of bombs slung over their bruised shoulders.

"What are ya doin' here, Will?" the agent named Nathan asked, continuing to lower his bag into the back of the pickup truck and with a casual flick of his hand scooted his Umbreon to the side in the back of the truck. It gave an impatient flick of its frayed gold and black tail and proceeded to give up its sleeping spot, instead moving to a far corner of the truck, with its sharp teeth lovingly dug into the side of its chew toy.

"I'm here to deliver the Pikachu to the fiancée's place," he said, panting slightly as he looked around warily for any sign of the Boss in the large lot.

"Can't he just handle that himself?" Nathan's partner, Sue, sighed, leaning over the siding of the truck to stroke the tattered fur of their Umbreon, whose ears perked at the slight touch.

"Apparently not," Dr. Craig said, looking down at Pikachu, whose attempts to escape its cage had decreased slightly in the last few days.

It now sat on the cold metal of the floor in its small cage, its tail swishing back and forth rhythmically. It looked nearly hypnotized, the only other sign of movement than its tail were its charcoal black eyes, which darted at the noise of the several garage-like doors as they were heavily lifted, revealing teams of worn looking field agents, dragging their torn balloons into the lot with difficulty in order to be repaired.

"Well, he's not here," Sue said bitterly, attempting to playfully jerk the chew toy from Umbreon's mouth. "He never showed up for work this morning."

"Really?" Dr Craig said, as a wave of relief washed over him. "I thought he just lived here or something."

"He generally does. But he's been goin' to spend the weekend with that woman of his fer the past few weeks," Nathan said, giving a swift kick with the heel of his boot at the ground as he brushed several strands of light blond hair out of his blue eyes. "I think she used to be a member of the team, right?" he asked offhandedly, looking to his partner, who shrugged in response.

"It's a rumor," she commented, sweeping her brown hair into a short ponytail. "None of the Boss' secretaries seem to have access to any sort of information about her in our files."

"Well, in any case," Nathan said, whose words slurred together somewhat due to his slight southern accent, "he's gonna want that thing," he finished, gesturing a bloodstained hand toward Pikachu.

"I suppose so," Dr. Craig said, quickly posing a leg in Pikachu's line of vision in order to attempt to calm the Pokemon that had suddenly let of a very small spark off static electricity in having felt insulted by having been called a "thing."

"That Pikachu looks kinda… weird," Sue said, raising her eyebrows as she snatched back her hand to examine the freshly received bite marks, blood now steadily flowing down the side of her wrist. "Bad Umbreon," she said, directing a stern look toward the Pokemon.

"If that Pikachu is so important I wonder why he didn't just have Miyamoto deliver it fer him. I mean, he's been seein' that Delia fer quite a while now," Nathan said, taking Sue's hand in his own and brushing his thumb up against it, trying to wipe away the blood.

"It's because he didn't want her paid any," Sue said matter-of-factly, whose face had turned a slight shade of scarlet at having her hand in her partner's. "Poor dear. Best agent we had and she was always terribly underpaid. I think we got hold of her daughter though, Jessie, and she'll probably prove herself to be useful. Madame Boss sent her to Pokemon Tech while she was still in power."

"Yeah, she probably will be useful," Dr. Craig mused, who turned around to face the doorway he had entered some twenty minutes ago to find it filled with three Rocket Grunts and Eric, who looked somewhat baffled in the crowd of much taller agents. Dr. Craig recognized them to be Brian, Joseph, and Carla.

"I heard the Boss didn't come in this morning," Eric said, who once again gave off a faint smell of burnt flesh, but it was less potent since he had changed into civilian clothes under the Boss' order, as well had the Grunts. "He'll probably want us to deliver the Pikachu anyway."

"Even with him there?" Joseph piped up.

"Yes," Eric said, checking his watch again. "The Boss said yesterday that we're to just simply leave the Pokemon in the bushes by her mailbox. And we're to do it as quickly as possible, obviously."

"What on earth is he thinking with that plan? I suppose that just once again proves that loves makes you stupid," Sue remarked, unaware of the spy camera located on the wall that spun and focused in on her as she said this.

"Y'all better get goin' then," Nathan said, gesturing to another nearby parked pickup truck as Sue gave him a stern look, "it's a bit of a drive, not to mention it's rainin' pretty hard."

* * *

"Get out the map again," Dr. Craig ordered Eric, who had spent the last twenty minutes trying to roll up his sleeves to a satisfying length since the sweater he was now wearing was at least three sizes too large for him.

"Hold on," he said, giving one final tug on the hem of his blue sleeve. He reached into the small compartment located on the dashboard, pulled out a tattered map, and spread it out on his jeans, the small force of the action producing an even larger hole in his pants.

"Stupid thing," he muttered, gripping the tear that now ran the length of his knee. "Well," he continued, pointing to a place on the map, "We're really not that far now. Just be sure to make a left on Rail Street," he said, tracing a line on the map with his slightly long fingernail, which mistakenly cut a line down the path, "and don't forget to head straight off of the next route," Eric finished, now attempting to roll up the ends of his pants that swung slightly to the swerving of the car.

The majority of the car trip was spent in a dull silence. Dr. Craig would let out a small grunt of displeasure as the windshield wipers would give out, producing a squeaking sound when they forced themselves to push up against the glass of the car as the increasingly heavy rain caused him to swerve off the road slightly at repeated intervals.

"Will you watch where you're going!" one of the Grunts in the backseat yelled, holding onto the back of Eric's chair when they nearly hit a street sign.

"You try driving in this weather!" Dr. Craig retorted as he jerked the steering wheel in the opposite direction and everyone in the car swerved toward the side.

"Hey, watch out!" Eric yelled, pointing ahead of him as the windshield wiper gave off another piercing screech.

A pack of wild Stantler had bounded across the dirt road, one of them making a complete stop as several other Stantlers continued across the path. It jerked its head as slaps of mud caused by the other Pokemon's charcoal black hooves hurled into its tan face, positioning its large antlers at a dangerous angle.

"Stop the car, dang it!" Brian yelled, the cigarette placed precariously in his mouth falling to the seat of the car.

Dr. Craig slammed on the break, the bedroom slipper positioned haphazardly on his foot only allowing half of the force he had intended. The Stantler, now nearly six feet away from the slowing truck, cocked its head to face the car's headlights, lightly sweeping its hooves on the muddy ground.

The sharp tip of one of the Pokemon's antlers dangerously prodded the glass of the windshield as the car stopped completely, each of the car's occupants sinking back into the nook of their seat.

"Curse my bad luck!" Dr. Craig sighed, throwing nearly his entire body weight onto the steering wheel as he halfheartedly slammed his fists onto it.

"Get out of here!" Joseph yelled, stepping out of the car onto the dirt path and pointing towards the small forest the other Pokemon had previously entered. "Go on, get!"

The Pokemon obeyed, and, tossing its antlers back in a swift motion, retreated into the small woods, its hooves clapping lazily behind it.

"Stupid thing," Joseph sighed angrily, halfway stepping back in through the door when he placed the tip of his boot on the foot of the car and snaked his middle toward the back of the truck. "Oh no."

"What?" Dr. Craig asked, his tone of voice becoming somewhat high-pitched as he forced himself out of the car as well. "What's wrong?"

"Bloody hell," Joseph whispered, his gruff voice barely audible over the pouring rain. "Take a look."

Dr. Craig turned to stare in the back of the truck, finding it severely damaged. The side railing was now an ash color and several of the bars from Pikachu's cage were scattered among the floor of the back, blowing in different directions as the wind picked up and died. Everyone had gotten out of the car at this point, each looking as if they had just fallen incredibly ill.

"I don't believe this," Dr. Craig shrieked, his glasses repositioning themselves at a lopsided angle along his crooked nose as the pouring rain caused his matted black hair to stick to the thin sides of his face. "Pikachu's escaped!"

"I'm… I'm going to die," Eric said weakly, somehow summoning enough energy to pull the turtleneck collar of his sweater over his nose and obscuring most of his eyes from vision.

"This is all your fault!" Dr. Craig yelled, pointing his finger accusingly at one of the Grunts as a cage bar flew from the back of the truck and nearly pegged him in the leg.

"Hey," he said, raising his palms in defense as the slim cigarette in his mouth slipped to the corner of his lips. "All I was told to do was to tie the dang thing down," he said, exhaling a large puff of smoke that almost immediately disappeared due to the heavy rain.

Eric had now slumped over to the siding of the pickup truck. His back was rising and falling in ragged breathes and he had buried his face in his arms, attempting to cover his face further by pulling up at the collar of his sweater. "We're all going to be killed," he whispered, desperately trying to muffle his sobs with the ends of his sleeves.

"It'll… it'll be alright," Carla whispered, walking over to Eric and ruffling what was still visible of his light blond hair as gently and motherly as she possible could.

"You must be kidding," Dr. Craig said, his voice now becoming somewhat hysterical as he stared off in the direction the Stantler had previously entered. He heard a faint rustling in the bushes and jumped, nearly knocking his glasses off his face.

"Pikachu…?" he whispered, taking a step toward the bushes, his slipper making him slid on the wet path slightly.

What emerged from the shrubbery was unfortunately and most certainly not a Pokemon. It was a boy, no more than the age of five, who tugged at the end of his shirt when it caught against several thorns, slightly tearing the picture of a Caterpie plastered on his clothing.

"Stupid things," he said, pressing his tan thumb at the location where the thorns had scraped his body, a small amount of blood now trickling down past his stomach.

"Kid! Hey kid!" Dr. Craig shouted to the boy that was some ten feet away as he cupped his mud-covered hands to his mouth so he could be heard over the pouring rain. "Have you seen a Pikachu around here!"

The boy didn't speak, but instead merely shook his head as several strands of his black hair slid down through the corners of his red and white Pokemon League hat. He loosened his grip around his bug catching net and turned to leave, pulling the rim of his cap down over his black eyes.

"Well he was a lot of help," Dr. Craig sighed, pressing his back firmly against the door of the car, attempting to tone out the sounds of Eric's weak sobs. "That kid was a twerp."

So, the rest of the day was spent searching for the Pokemon in the surrounding forest, only twice coming close to anything that resembled a Pikachu.

"Hey, I think I see it," Brian had called out to the others while forging a small path as he swiped away at several barbed branches that cut into the material of his gloves.

What they found, however, was a Bellsprout, which looked up at them with its beady black eyes and nearly swayed its emerald leaves in time to Dr. Craig's scream of exasperation, and then took off, its yellow head bobbing to the side as it disappeared in several tall patches of dieing grass.

"This is hopeless," Dr. Craig sighed, tilting his head upward to face the darkening sky and allowing several large droplets of rain to stain his glasses, "We're never going to find it."

* * *

The group returned later that night indeed with nothing. All except Dr. Craig, who had retreated to his office upon their arrival, were sitting in one of the lounge rooms, each decorated with stained bandages on their hands and face. Eric had endured the worst, having had nearly been attacked by a swarm of Beedrill, and suffered a long gash along the side of his arm due to one of the Pokemon's pointed needles grazing his skin.

"This really sucks," Eric sighed, curling his knees to his chest on the couch he laid on, continually wrapping the white clothe around his arm.

"I'm getting out while I can," Brian mused, lightly placing his bloodstained hand on the windowpane that was suffering repeated blows from the pouring rain. "To stay here would be like writing your own obituary."

"You must be crazy," Carla said, carelessly licking the bit of blood dripping from her palm, the warm liquid leaving a bitter tasted in her mouth. "The Boss would find you and have you killed."

"So you're just going to wait around and be killed earlier?" he asked astonishingly, raising his dark brown eyebrows in question.

"It isn't even our fault," Joseph said, who had previously placed his head in between his knees as if fighting off motion sickness. "I say it's that scientist's responsibility."

"But you did tie it down, didn't you?" Carla asked skeptically, lightly tapping the wine glass placed in her hand with the tip of her black fingernail, taking another sip in order to calm her nerves.

"Yes," Brian spat, slightly pounding his fist on to the window. "Dr. Craig said he had received enough thundershocks for a lifetime so that I should tie it down in the back instead of risking having it in the front with us. He was too lazy himself to try and help me, of course," he finished, lightly scraping his nail against the glass as lighting flashed in front of the building.

"I think he's just really stressed right now," Eric said as he finished messily tying the bandage on his arm, surprising even himself in having spoken in the other man's defense.

"Well," Brian said, fiercely digging his hands into his pockets, "that jerk better prepare for trouble."

* * *

Okay, how did everyone like it? Was that painfully obvious? Or did you not see that coming?

And what's going to happen to Dr. Craig? What about Pikachu? And what's the deal with Brian?

...Why am I asking you all these questions?

So, I hope you're enjoying this! Please review too! Come on, it isn't _that_ hard! Anyway, much love to you all, and tell me what you think so far.

Till Next Time,

Tear22


	4. Cold Blood

Title: The Pikachu Project

If you're thinking of sicking your lawyers on me, look to chapter one for a disclaimer.

Author's Notes: **(Important) **

Some of the reviewers of the last chapter were confused about the matter of Miyamoto being alive or dead at the time of this fic. I had intended on making this a bit clearer, but nonetheless I'm going to break down something of a timeline for all you lovely reviewers so that you can hopefully understand the time sequence a bit better. So, here goes nothing:

According to the Japanese anime and CD Drama, Miyamoto died under the command of Madame Boss, who at the time was of course still under the rule of the Team Rocket organization. At this time, Musashi (Jessie) was currently around the age of nine, and soon after her mother's death was taken by Team Rocket, seeing as Miyamoto served as such a wonderful agent. Musashi then persuaded Madame Boss to let her attend nursing school, which she later failed miserably. She then was sent off to Pokemon Technical, a school for aspiring Pokemon Trainers. By this time, Giovanni had already been given Team Rocket by his mother, Madame Boss, and is when "The Pikachu Project" is taking place. So during this fanfic, she is eleven years old; therefore, since there is a difference of seven years between Musashi and Satoshi (Ash), this would make Satoshi around the age of four of five at the time of this fic.

The reason I brought Miyamoto up in the last chapter was so that the readers could hopefully get a time of when this was taking place, and more importantly the age of some of the main characters, which will be used in later chapters.

So… was that as confusing as I think it might have been? So, to be short and sweet: Jessie's eleven, Ash is four or five, and Miyamoto is dead at the time of this fic.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the next chapter of "The Pikachu Project," and I really do love all of you. Your reviews mean a lot to me. Hugs all around!

**_"I hate the things that I do when I'm nervous, like cleaning the oven and checking my tires. Or counting all the tiles in the ceiling..." -- _**Everything Is Alright

* * *

The Pikachu Project 

By: Tear22

**Chapter Three: Cold Blood **

"No…. Why am I thinking this?" Dr. Craig asked himself, placing the tip of his chin on the edge of his keyboard and then began to repeatedly run his soiled hands through his hair, pressing firmly on his skull with each repeated circle of his head.

It had been one week since the disappearance of Pikachu, and the topic of the entire organization was on Dr. Craig, and, Giovanni's surprising disappearance. After the Boss' second day of absence everyone began to panic, but after a forced calm was set on them by the Elites, everyone turned rather to Dr. Craig's blunder and blamed him for their employer's absence.

"It's that scientist's fault, you know," he had heard one of the Grunts dramatically reencounter every detail of Pikachu's escape to some younger Dan'in who all were huddled respectively in front of her. She was sitting on one of the laundry room's washing machines, while the others repeatedly twisted their hands around the material of their dirty laundry as the uniforms in the machine whirled feverishly. "He was the one that lost it, and now the coward's been locked up in his office for days," she said vividly gesturing toward the hallway. "That has to be why the Boss has been gone."

It was true that the Boss' disappearance seemed directly tied to the loss of Pikachu, even Dr. Craig admitted that, but he continued to ignore the strong urge to try and contact the Boss.

"This isn't my fault… it's not my fault," he reassured himself, once again swiftly rearranging the dull pencils placed on his desk. He then weaved his hands in and out of scraps of paper, all of which had hurriedly drawn Pikachu on them.

"It has to be here," he muttered, ruffling through several days' worth of newspapers, barely noticing that his hands twitched with every few turns of the paper. His hands abruptly stopped as a picture of a Pikachu flashed in front of him, indicating that that was the newspaper he was looking for.

"This is it," he whispered, smoothing the crumbled paper out on the area that wasn't littered with scraps and remaining assortments of food he had surprisingly acquired from Eric, who stopped by twice a day with food once realizing that Dr. Craig was refusing to leave his office again.

Dr. Craig's eyes flicked impatiently as he scanned the newspaper over the edge of his wire rim glasses. He slowly brought his thumb to his tongue and licked it, and placing the inked page between his thumb and index finger, gradually turned the page, making sure he took in every detail of the article.

"This is too much exposure for the team," he thought to himself, brushing his finger against the large picture of a Pikachu on the next page, sparks emitting from its crimson cheeks and its tail raised defensively.

The caption plastered above the image read, "DANGEROUS, WILD POKEMON: POSSIBLY BRED ILLEGALLY IN CAPTIVITY."

"This can't be good," he sighed. He stood up, and, brushing off the remaining crumbs from his previously eaten cookie, placed the newspaper faced down on the chair and proceeded to maneuver around the few piles of papers and clothes scattered on the carpeted floor and reached the wall opposite him, and placing his pencil between his pale fingers, dug the pencil into the wall, allowing the tip to break as he made another slash mark, making the darkened line considerably even with the others. He stood back slightly to examine his work, tapping his finger against the wall as he counted out seven pencil markings.

"It's the seventh day. Pikachu's been missing for seven days," he whispered to himself as he heard a sharp knocking on his door. Nearly entangling his foot with a piece of dirty clothing, he managed to reach the door, open it, and found Eric with a tray of food placed unevenly in his hands.

"Here's some dinner," Eric said, stepping into Dr. Craig office and with a mildly alarmed expression on his face asked, "What the heck happened here?"

Although on any other occasion Dr. Craig would have most likely scolded Eric for not addressing him as sir, he was in no condition to complain. And even though Eric had been here no more than a few hours ago, the room had gotten considerably messier since his last visit.

"You should consider cleaning this place up a bit. It's not like you don't have any free time on your hands," Eric commented, stepping into the scientist's room as he forced the tray into Dr. Craig's soiled hands.

"How bad is it out there?" Dr. Craig asked, slightly placing the hurriedly made turkey sandwich between his pale lips and lightly moistening the bread with the tip of his tongue.

"It's like a living Hell," Eric sighed, slumping down onto a paper-covered chair, making him appear slightly taller. "But some of us are taking the Boss' absence as an excuse to party," he said, pulling out what suspiciously looked like a piece of confetti from his mass of blonde hair, then continued, "The Elites haven't got any control over any of the lower ranks now. It's funny – I always thought that we'd be able to pull through all right even if Giovanni was gone – we are a team, after all, but that looks like it isn't the case."

Dr. Craig, brushing his fingertip against the freshly marked wall, asked, "Have they gotten worse about blaming me?"

"Yes," Eric moaned, lightly pulling on the rim of his grunt hat as he placed his other hand to his face in an attempt to secure a bandage hanging loosely off his cheek. "They're all just trying to put the blame on one person. I really wouldn't be surprised if they tried to hang you by the neck."

* * *

Although a traditional hanging was unsuitable even for Team Rocket, several other attempts to bring harm upon Dr. Craig were carried throughout the next week, and he had nearly finished reading a small stack of what one might call hate mail from lower and surprisingly upper ranks, when his stomach emitted an immense growl.

"I really need to go to the cafeteria to get breakfast," he thought to himself, but immediately decided against it when his eyes scanned the letter from an upper rank member placed shakily in his hands. The sender boldly declared that if Dr. Craig were to as so step out of his office that the member swore on his life that he would see it sure that the scientist's face would look as if a shovel had hit it.

So the next few hours were spent in a tedious stillness, with the only sound being the continuingly louder rumbling coming from Dr. Craig's empty stomach.

But finally, he heard a soft but persistent rapping on his door, assuming it was Eric with his lunch. He had spent the last twenty minutes watching his clock, and his stomach gave off a rumble of discontent each time a minute later passed.

He got up, opened the door, and began saying, "It's about time you got here, Grunt," but instantly became silent as he felt the cold metal of a gun forcibly digging into his forehead, which parted his black bangs down the center.

He immediately took several steps back, but the heel of his shoe tore into a piece of paper lying on the floor, nearly ripping the quick sketch of a Pikachu down its middle. He stumbled to the ground but swiftly snapped his head back up to face the doorway, finding Brian, the Grunt, pointing a gun fixed directly to his head.

"Hello," Brian said nonchalantly, bringing the circular tip of the gun to his tongue and slowly began licking it with an almost sickening affection, "So you really have been cooped up here all this time then.

"It's funny," he continued, instead beginning to circle the tip of the gun with his gloved thumb, "Funny that someone as idiotic as you could possibly bring about the end of the greatest criminal organization in the history of the Kanto Region."

"What's funny is that you still dare to call us anything of a team," Dr. Craig said weakly, remembering what Eric had mentioned to him only a few days before. "Killing me isn't going to do anything! It's not…. It's not fair."

"Now I never used the word "team" did I?" Brian laughed. "And haven't you ever heard the expression all's fair in love and war? Well that could be applied now."

"This is just as much your fault as it is mine," Dr. Craig retorted, his voice cracking greatly as he saw Brian gingerly place his fingers on the trigger. "…Y- You can't possibly blame me for all of this."

"You were the one that was in charge of the project, weren't you?" he barked in return, redirecting his aim from the scientist's head to his chest, "And I'm not going to risk being killed for _your_ mistake."

"Get off him, Grunt."

Brian froze in place, with the only movement being the slight shaking of the gun, which was now slipping through the dan'in's fingers. He closed his eyes slightly, took in a ragged breath, and lowered the weapon, desperately trying to block out the dying and rising whispers he could hear coming from the filled doorway.

The Boss had come back to Headquarters.

* * *

Ooh, looks like everyone is in trouble now! Let the dying begin!

Would you like to see what will happen to Pokemon and human alike?If you do, then please leave me a lovely, charming review. I mean come on now; it isn't that hard to do. And trust me, your mouse won't explodeupon contact with leaving a review. I promise it wont.

Till Next Time,

Tear22


	5. A Questionable Fate

Title: The Pikachu Project

Disclaimer: Oh just shut up. Rub it in, why don't you? I don't own Pokemon, and I never will. I do happen to own the original characters in this fic though.

Author's Notes: To answer ImJessieTR's question, the first seven chapters of "The Pikachu Project" will focus mainly on the consequence of Dr. Craig's mishap of losing Pikachu. The three chapters after that, however, will focus primarily on Pikachu, Ash, Jessie, James, and Meowth. Hopefully then, the readers will be able to see how all the characters are tied together, and how Dr. Craig's mistake is still in full effect to this day.

**Thanks SO much to all the people who have continued to read and review this fic! I love you all! **

"_Monday he woke up and hated life. Drank until Wednesday and left his wife. Thursday through Saturday lost everything. Woke up on Sunday miserable again…_" – The Story of My Old Man, Good Charlotte

* * *

The Pikachu Project

By: Tear22

**Chapter Five: A Questionable Fate**

The talk of what had taken place reached what seemed to be every member of Team Rocket within minutes, a remarkable amount of time even for them. No one but the few who had followed the Boss to Dr. Craig's office upon hearing of his arrival had witnessed it, and it was as though each Grunt that had been there at the time had been promoted to the ranking of Elite in just a few minutes.

It appeared the organization had temporarily forgotten the Pikachu incident, and its disappearance was not brought up again until later that night, when Giovanni, as well as several Elite Rockets, called in Dr. Craig, Eric, and the other three Grunts present with them at the time of Pikachu's leaving to a meeting of some sort being held in the Boss' office, with several older Grunts being placed near the door and the ends of the hallway, as so no member might try to listen to the conversation taking place.

"Where is he? Where's the Boss?" Eric whispered urgently to Dr. Craig, stretching out a great deal in an attempt to make his feet at least touch the floor.

"Be quiet," Dr. Craig whispered back, slightly digging his nails into the boy's hand that had tightly wrapped itself on the arm of the scientist's chair. "What? Are you in some kind of hurry to get your punishment?"

With that Eric feel completely silent, only twice flashing Dr. Craig a worried look as the Boss' Persian approached him, only bothering to brush its wet, black nose against him in an almost friendly manner.

The rest of the Grunts seemed surprisingly calm. Carla was lightly tapping her heel on the floor, while Joseph looked as though he were simply ready to go to bed. Brian, refusing to make eye contact with anyone, especially Dr. Craig, was lightly nibbling on the ends of his glove's fingers while waiting for the Boss to arrive.

What exactly took Giovanni so long Dr. Craig had no clue. When he did arrive, however, he looked much paler than usual and had a slight stumble in his walk as he unevenly sat down in the chair behind his desk, with four Elite Rockets standing behind him for the sole purpose, Dr. Craig was sure, to make him look even more intimidating if at all possible.

Once upon sitting down, Giovanni immediately began rummaging through several papers on his desk, slightly tilting his head forward as if nodding off. One of the Elites standing beside him quickly snapped his fingers, indicating for the Boss to not lose consciousness.

"What's wrong with him?" Eric muttered to Dr. Craig, lightly inclining his head forward to signify Giovanni. "He looks terrible."

"I think," Dr. Craig started, quickly glancing at the Elites to make sure none of them noticed they were talking, "I think he's… drunk."

Several more minutes passed where nothing was said, and the only thing that temporarily broke the silence were several large groans coming from outside the office and down the hallway. It seemed as though numerous attempts had been made to hear what was being spoken during the meeting, but each one had been denied by the older Grunts positioned at the doors and the ends of the hallway.

"Serves them right," Dr. Craig muttered under his breath has he heard a group of dan'in being shooed away. "Nosy Grunts."

"Giovanni would now like to address the issue of the missing Pikachu that was supposed to be delivered to his… fiancée," one of the Elites started, pausing momentarily before finishing his sentence. "He is aware that the lead scientist involved in the Pikachu Project, William Craig, was to deliver the Pokemon, being accompanied by four Class C Agents whom of which are Eric Kata, Carla Dennis, Joseph Murata, and Brian Taylor. The team recently became mindful of an article posted in the _Pokemon Times_ that clearly stated the surrounding community's awareness of Pikachu's escape, also saying that it could have possibly been bred in captivity. The town in which the Pokemon had been residing in suffered from several attacks caused by Pikachu, and it also seemed to steal food from the town's residents.

"We've done some background checks on their research on the matter of it being bred, and it seems as though Professor Samuel Oak, a neighbor of the," he paused again and looked toward Giovanni, hurriedly scanning the bare area of skin that normally sported his engagement ring, then continued, "…Boss' fiancée and a highly respected member of the Pokemon community, has confirmed the idea and has managed to capture Pikachu."

"He _what_!" Dr Craig cried, leaning forward in his chair so abruptly that his glasses nearly fell off, "How!"

"Since the Pokemon was never given a Pokeball, it was free to capture since it never truly had a real trainer," he responded with a tone of exasperation. "Why it was never given a Pokeball," he continued, directing a stern glare toward Dr. Craig, who was now looking as if he had fallen extremely ill, "is a question of responsibility."

Dr. Craig's reaction to this news was surprising even him. Although the Pokemon had never rightfully been his, and even though Pikachu had caused him enough trouble for a lifetime, it made him nearly angry knowing someone else, a stranger, was currently in possession of it. "I can't believe this," he whispered, slumping further forward in his chair as he spoke, "I just can't believe this."

"We're doing all we can to get the Pikachu back into our possession. We feel if an extensive study is done on the Pokemon they may find the source of its creator, which of course is a threat to our organization. The article that appeared in _Pokemon Times_ stated that it was only a possibility that it was bred, but now that Oak has captured it, they will now be able to do testing to perhaps confirm their belief completely."

The Elite continued to speak for several minutes, but none of the occupants in the room seemed to be paying him any mind, but were rather focusing all their attention on Dr. Craig, whose head shook violently as if having a convulsion.

"I've worked for months on this project just to have it fall into the hands of the wrong person!" he shouted, causing the Elite to stop half way through his sentence. His hands tightened around the arms of his chair, causing Eric to flinch slightly considering he had just recently placed his hand on the arm of Dr. Craig's chair to get his attention so he could ask what was wrong with him.

"Get o - off me," Eric muttered, but soon found no need to continue his request because Dr. Craig pushed up off his chair to stand at a nearly ridiculous full five feet and three inches.

"Excuse me, Giovanni, sir," Dr. Craig began swiftly, not fully aware that his pale lips twitched slightly with every few words he spoke, "Why was it that you were absent from Headquarters for an entire week?"

Giovanni flashed Dr. Craig a puzzled expression, one that could only be mimicked and perhaps perfected by that of his only son. He quickly regained his composure and looked at his agent instead with an almost daring appearance, waiting for Dr. Craig to continue, as he was sure he would.

"Sir," he persisted, ignoring the cautionary tugs of his jacket from Eric, who had begun to fear for not only his own life by Dr. Craig's as well, "why were you absent?"

"The Boss' absence is not of your concern," the Elite piped up, attempting to continue with what he had been saying earlier. "He feels that you needn't know."

"He was gone for nearly a week, leaving the entire organization in a fit of panic. The least he could do is give us a simple explanation as to why he wasn't here," Dr. Craig protested, becoming fully conscious of the pleading looks he was receiving from his fellow agents, not to mention that Giovanni's assumed drunkenness was possibly impairing his train of thought. Now it was Dr. Craig's turn to have the upper hand.

"If you don't mind me saying so, sir," he continued, lightly tipping his head forward so that his hair blocked any of his peripheral vision, for Eric had begun to cry silently and he didn't want to see it, "it was irresponsible to just leave like that with no warning for us. Didn't you take it into consideration the fact that the very organization you run happens to be dependent on you? Or are you so simple–minded that you not only didn't contemplate on that but assuming lost your fiancée as well?" he said, darting his black eyes meaningfully toward Giovanni's uncovered ring finger.

"You idiot," Dr. Craig heard the Elite mutter under his breath as he put a hand to his head. "Do you have any idea what you've just done…?"

Giovanni began shaking slightly, looking similar to what Dr. Craig did just a few minutes prior. "Get out of my office," he whispered, tugging forcefully on a patch of fur belonging to his Persian. The cat Pokemon made a low hissing noise in the back of its throat and jerked its fur back into its regular position.

"Excuse me, sir?" Dr. Craig asked, placing his pallid hands on his hips in an almost feminine fashion. "What did you say?" Dr. Craig knew it wasn't right to be playing games with Giovanni like this, but the temptation was just too great.

"Get out of my office!" he shouted, standing up with enough force to knock his chair back, "Get out, get out, _get out_!" Giovanni screamed, swiftly pointing toward the exit but missed the general direction of the door by an estimated six feet. "I want you all out now!"

With that having been said, he proceeded to slam his fist on the small, red button fixed onto the neatly polished wood of his desk, and the wall behind him began to rotate, scraping up against the carpet. Giovanni stepped through the newly made opening, and the Elites caught the now distant clacking of his shoes as they echoed off the tiled floors and ceiling, then the wall rotated back into its previous position.

No one needed to be told twice about exiting Giovanni's office, and as the Elite began protesting, saying that they still needed to receive their punishments, most of the group had nearly reached the end of the hallway, with Brian practically skipping and leaving his Grunt hat to sway on top of his matted brown hair.

"In your face!" Dr. Craig heard Brian shout manically from down the hallway, "I got off!"

Dr. Craig turned to leave as well but was stopped as Eric swiftly tugged on his jacket, and motioned him towards the door, his ear being pressed firmly against it but was being surrounded in a mass of blonde hair. "Listen," he ordered, looking around slightly to make sure the Grunts that had been posted at the ends of the hallway had already left.

Dr. Craig did as he was told, and started to catch the hushed whispers of the Elites that had been present during the meeting.

"So she knows then?" one of the Elites whispered. "And the son?"

"She's always known. Delia was a member quite some time ago, I'm sure you've heard by now. And as for their son, Ash, he does not know. The Boss wants him to never find out, unless it's to his advantage. Who knows, maybe the kid will be useful."

The wall located behind the Boss' desk rotated open again, and Giovanni stepped back into the room with his Persian following behind him an almost fearful behavior. The wall closed shut again with a snap, nearly catching the tip of the cat Pokemon's tail.

"I want you lot out as well." Giovanni's words were slurred together slightly, sounding as if he had been drinking a great deal as he often did when put under stress.

"But, sir," an Elite started hesitantly, "why _were_ you gone all that time?"

"It's none of your business," Giovanni said harshly, feebly wondering if the money he had provided Delia would be enough to support their only son.

Giovanni's breathing had become rapid, and Dr. Craig took notice of the distinct sound of a wine bottle being opened as he and Eric quickly walked away from the door, which was clicked open impatiently, revealing a very distraught and infuriated Elite member.

"Drunk, old fool," the Elite grumbled, striding away from Giovanni's office as the assassin guns hanging insecurely off his black and red belt slapped against his thighs. "I swear, if I wasn't so loyal to the team…"

"We did it," Eric whispered, excitement building in his voice. "We're off the hook."

"At least for the time being," Dr. Craig reminded him, holding up a shaky finger as he flashed three young Grunts a crooked smile as they peered around the corner of the hallway. Each one's head was positioned curiously above the others and they all partially wondered why a bullet had not yet been shot through Dr. Craig's skull.

* * *

Woo. Another chapter under the belt. Hope you all liked it!

But do you honestly think I'm going tolet everyone off so easily? Puh, that's a laugh.

So, my dear, dear readers! Please drop me a quick **review**; I swear it isn't that complicated to do! See you all soon!

Long Live The Boss,

Tear22


	6. A Fight Not Worth Dying For

Title: The Pikachu Project

I don't own any of this other than the plot, sadly.

Author's Notes: I'd just like to thank everyone that has come back and reviewed again. It really is something special to me. I'm sorry this chapter is a bit short, but not to worry, because chapter seven is going to be very long.

...But, really, did you honestly think I was going to let Dr. Craig off that easily?

* * *

The Pikachu Project

By: Tear22

**Chapter Six: A Fight Not Worth Dying **

The happiness Dr. Craig and Eric had felt at being let off was dismissed by the following week. Although Giovanni had forgotten most of the meeting due to being drunk, he did happen, and most unfortunately, remember that Pikachu was missing and whose fault it happened to be.

To make matters worse, Dr. Craig had been having reoccurring dreams of the rodent, and his condition from the time of the Boss' absence had worsened a fairly good deal. He also seemed to have shed at least ten pounds, for he was now consistently having to readjust the cream colored buttons hooked to his stained lab coat.

"That's all you've been eating for days. What's so great about it?" Eric asked, following Dr. Craig back to a table in the cafeteria, and eyeing the yellow gelatin skeptically as it shook unevenly on the plate held in the scientist's hands.

"It's not so bad," he remarked, sitting down at the table and proceeding to stick his dented fork in the gelatin, prodding it in and out sluggishly. "Not to mention, I like the color."

"You've become obsessed with yellow," Eric said, slightly beginning to admire the fact that his garb was usually nothing but black.

As Dr. Craig was just getting ready to defend himself, a Grunt came up to them, towering over the scientist as he took another careful bite of his jello, and said, "The Boss wishes to see you again, sir."

"And you," he said, turning to Eric. The Dan'in paused momentarily, looking as if he were collecting saliva in the back of his mouth in an assumed preparation to spit on the younger boy, but stopped due to a harsh look he received from Dr. Craig. He then continued, "You need to take two Field Agents to the incinerator. They're out back, in a couple of body bags."

"Not now," Eric groaned, allowing for the singed, blonde tips of his hair to flop over the sides of his crossed arms then continued to bury his head deeper so that his pale nose nearly touched the surface of the dirty, cold table. "What were their names?" he groaned, already conducting a small sermon in his head.

"I'm not sure," the Grunt shrugged, once again fighting off the urge to wrap his gloved fingers around the ends of Eric's hair and yank his head, which was now somewhat buried under his followed arms. "Their bodies were nearly unrecognizable, but I think the Boss mentioned their names being… Nathan and Sue. A suicide mission, the Boss told me, but I don't believe it. Nope, I had the unfortunate job of putting those two in their body bags, and I could have sworn I saw a slit mark on the girl's throat. It was murder, I say."

A small lump had formed in the region of Dr. Craig's adam's apple. He swallowed hard; having to catch himself as his fork almost went down his throat too, at having been left to dangle slightly in his mouth as Dr. Craig had listened to this terrible news.

He had seen Nathan and Sue just before they had been sent out on that mission, and although he had noticed a slight tension between the two of them at the time, Dr. Craig had been sure that it would pass like it always did with them. And unless the Grunt was mistaken, Dr. Craig had been horribly wrong.

"I guess I better get going then," Eric said while standing up and snapping the lead scientist out of his reverie. "You better leave now too."

"Yeah," Dr. Craig said, hurriedly standing up as well and leaving his bowl of jello, which was then predictably dumped on Eric's head by the older Grunt, leaving the boy to weakly spit out the contents onto the floor.

Dr. Craig exited the cafeteria quickly, trying to push the thought out of his head that other than Eric, Nathan and Sue had been the only ones to support him while the Boss had been gone. And he had never even bothered to thank them for it.

* * *

Dr. Craig had been called in for meetings with Giovanni so often recently that it now seemed simply a part of his routine. As he walked in a relatively fast pace down the corridor towards the Boss' office he disregarded that his hands twitched in nerves, but other than that, he was in a surprisingly calm state. And although the burden of Nathan and Sue was completely in effect, he tried to push down his emotions as he continued down the hallway. 

As he reached the door he allowed his gloved fist to flick back and forth in a knocking motion. Dr. Craig heard a person's gruff voice emit from behind the polished, wooden door, permitting his entrance. He opened the door and stepped inside the very dark room, as it always was, but immediately felt two pairs of large hands firmly being pressed on either side of his skinny arms.

"What's going on?" he asked loudly, and in his later opinion quite stupidly, then snapped his head up to unexpectedly face Brian, who had a devilish grin plastered on his face similar to the ones that the Grunts holding his arms had.

"Hello, Will," he said. Brian once again allowed the trademark cigarette in his mouth to slip out. The still lighted cigarette fell and landed on the Boss' Persian, leaving a small patch of its fur a slight charcoal black color as the amber tip burned a bit of its cream coat. It growled deeply in its throat and proceeded to scamper under its trainer's large, crimson chair, which was currently unoccupied.

"I have something here for you," Brian said, digging in his pocket and producing a neatly folded piece of paper. Using his uncut fingernail, he broke the seal, which had a scarlet R embedded on it and was messily stamped to one of the folds on the paper.

He opened the paper with a sharp flick of his hand, a smirk readily staining his features and his eyes dancing wildly. While ignoring Dr. Craig's long, flailing legs as one nearly hit his own, he began to read: "Under the permission and orders of Giovanni Razzo, Dr. William Craig is to be held at the Team Rocket Asylum until the holder feels necessary, with the minimum sentence being two years. The subject will be allowed to pack a small bag of clothing, which he will be permitted to wear on the weekends. He is to report tomorrow for his entrance and will undergo a complete inspection for any weapons he might possess."

You're bluffing," Dr. Craig said simply.

"You think so?" Brian asked slyly, and with an air of triumph held out the document for him read.

Dr. Craig quickly scanned the document, flinching slightly as he noticed it defined him as being "physically unstable and incapable of rational thought." His black eyes then fell upon the bottom corner of the paper, which sported a greasy, smudged thumbprint that very possibly belonged to Giovanni. He looked further and found that at the bottom of the paper was his Boss' signature scratched onto the document. Although Dr. Craig had only seen the signature once before, on the day of his employment, to be exact, there was no mistaking it. But then again, he thought to himself, this could all be a trap. After all, Giovanni was not even present in the room at the time, and maybe Brian had simple forced him somehow to sign the document. That had to be it!

"This is fake. You're nothing but a crazy liar."

"I'd watch who you claim to be crazy," Brian smirked, tilting his head forward slightly so that his Grunt had slid down to meet his dark brown eyes. "_Hello, sir_."

Almost as if on cue, Giovanni appeared by the doorway, with his hair greased back and mistakenly leaving several small patches to stick out along his head. His appearance, in any case, had improved a great deal since Dr. Craig had last seen him, which had been the night the Boss had been drunk.

"Pack your things, William. You'll be leaving tomorrow."

"_What?_" Dr. Craig asked unbelievably, studying his Boss for a moment and finding the same smirk staining his features as Brian. He grimaced weakly as the firm grip around his arms tightened further still. They must all be crazy!

"I'm not going to the Asylum! I'm not insane!" Dr. Craig cried hysterically, mentally noting with disdainfulness towards himself that the color of Giovanni's barely visible socks were the identical shade of the tip of Pikachu's tail.

"My sources have told me otherwise," Giovanni said, beckoning his Persian to his side with a flick of his hand.

"But Brian tried to _murder_ me! If anyone should go to the Asylum it's him!" Dr. Craig screamed, his voice cracking as his throat started to become increasingly sore.

A small ruffle of clothing behind him told Dr. Craig that that had clearly made Brian rather uncomfortable.

"Telling false stories will not get you out of this, William," – he heard a sigh of relief from Brian - Giovanni said firmly, then nodded toward the two Grunts holding Dr. Craig and they instantly released him, allowing for the circulation to return to his arms.

"Ask anyone! They'll tell you, he had a gun pointed to my head!"

It looked as if Giovanni was deciding whether to show any pity toward his agent, and his expression seemed to soften slightly but he soon gained all of his composure back. "I will not be persuaded by your lies," Giovanni said, Dr. Craig noting that his tone was almost hesitant. "You will be sent to the Asylum tomorrow. Don't think of trying to escape anytime either, you will be monitored incredibly closely. Also, be thankful that I even gave you a notice," he added as an afterthought. "Most agents are sent without warning."

"Now Brian," Giovanni continued, walking past Dr. Craig to show him that he had been dismissed, "lets talk about that promotion."

* * *

Woo. Okay people, let's see some reviews!

I hope everyone liked this chapter, because to be honest, I'm not too fond of it. Tell me what you thought; it'll be nice to hear everyone's opinions. So, let's get those reviews rolling!

Long Live The Boss,

Tear22


	7. Driven Insanity

Title: The Pikachu Project

Author's Notes: This will be the final installment featuring Dr. Craig, although he and Eric will make a later appearance in the last chapter. Hopefully with the next three chapters, everyone's questions will be completely answered. Now I want to say a special thanks to everyone who has reviewed so much. It's been great, and I hope you all stick around for the ending!

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Just the original characters, and the plot.

"_When I can't sleep, I count the number of buckles on my straight jacket." _

* * *

The Pikachu Project

By: Tear22

**Chapter Seven: Driven Insanity **

"How was your meeting?" Eric asked while the lead scientist passed him in the hallway, Dr. Craig having to shield most of his face, as Eric now smelled rather potent.

"It was fine," he lied, involuntarily biting his tongue, a nasty habit he had developed when he wasn't telling the truth, as he swiftly shut the door to his room, and leaving Eric out in the hallway with a slightly puzzled look on his face.

But the door didn't stay closed for long. Just as Eric began walking away, his attention was caught by a low creaking sound as Dr. Craig's door brushed up against the stained, carpeted floor of the hallway. He turned back and found Dr. Craig's head protruding slightly from behind the doorframe, his glasses tilted at a minor angle.

"I see you already went to the incinerator," Dr. Craig commented, noting the slight bit of ash lining Eric's chin and nose. "Did you see… what that Grunt mentioned?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I did," he sighed bitterly, vividly remembering the slit mark across the female agent's throat, leaving the tan skin on her neck stained with dry blood. "Did you, uh, know those agents?"

Eric looked up again as the door closed with a snap, leaving him only with the soft humming of the machinery located in the weapon's storage room, which was positioned directly below the floor where he was standing.

* * *

"That's insane! It's an outrage!" Eric cried, desperately watching Dr. Craig thrust another pile of dirty clothing into his worn suitcase. "It's impossible…. He can't…." 

"Well he apparently can," Dr. Craig sighed, closing his eyes black warily as the setting sun's rays shown in from the slits of his blinds that were messily attached to his unclean window.

He had received little to no sleep after his meeting with the Boss, and realizing it was a possibility that Brian would get a promotion for turning him in to Giovanni with false information for the Rocket Asylum did not help his repeated insomnia.

"But aren't you going to fight for your position?" Eric protested, chewing his pale lips in nerves. "I mean they can't just take you away like that! You _are_ the head scientist for genetically engineered Pokemon, right? The Boss needs you!"

"I'm sure he'll be able to find a replacement in no time," he said, his voice wavering slightly as he placed his last bit of clothing in his suitcase and closed it with a snap. "And it's this or death, I'm assuming. Besides, I've found from past experience that I'm very easily replaced."

At this Eric said nothing, just continued to watch Dr. Craig examine his small room a last time before a sharp knocking on the door caused them both to jump a bit.

"Bye, kid," Dr. Craig whispered, ruffling the boy's hair a little as the knocking became gradually louder.

"Bye," he mimicked, looking down toward the floor and appearing genuinely crestfallen.

Dr. Craig made to reach the handle on the door, but he soon found no need as he jerked his hand back, sure that if he had left it in the position it had been that his hand would have certainly been broken. For the door had been slammed open in a threatening fashion, swinging back with slight ease and colliding into a small bookshelf place haphazardly up against the wall. This caused several of Dr. Craig's Pokemon Science books to fall open into a small heap on the floor, sending the unused book's dust flying in numerous directions.

"William Craig," a man dressed in a starch white coat said with an air of great importance, ignoring that he had just managed to knock over several other objects in turn to knocking over the first, "you are now under the control of the Team Rocket Insane Asylum. We advise you to remain calm," and with that being said, he proceeded to take out a small tranquilizer gun from his jacket pocket.

Dr. Craig could have sworn the man winked at him, but had no time to contemplate over the matter, because he soon found it becoming increasingly difficult to stay awake. He moved slightly in order to sit down on his bed, but a sharp pricking feeling located in his upper arm caused him to grimace slightly, and then fall back onto his bed. Dr. Craig looked down to find the tranquilizer gun protruding from his shoulder, the liquid placed in it stirring slightly with his current rapid breathing. He blacked out and his breathing became light as soon as the men who had come for him mockingly placed what appeared to be the material of a straight jacket over his face.

* * *

Dr. Craig woke up to the sound of a door being slammed shut, and he wearily lifted his head to find that he couldn't possibly lift anything else, for he had been bound in a straight jacket so that his arms were forcibly placed behind him, leaving his shoulder blades to be hunched forward, and making the curled position he was in quite uncomfortable. He looked at his surroundings and came to the conclusion that after he had been hit with the tranquilizer, he had been taken to the Rocket Asylum's truck, which now rumbled on toward the Asylum on worn, uneven tires. A single, flickering light bulb, which provided the only light in the truck, swung violently as the truck swerved out of the Headquarters' area. 

He lightly placed his cheek back on the cold wood of the small bench he was laying on, which threatened to slide slightly every time the truck swerved. He felt as if he were going to cry, but refused to let himself when he noticed that he wasn't the only occupant of the Asylum truck. He attempted to set his focus on the other patient, finding some difficulty in doing so as the car gave an unpleasant jerk and rattled on. The other patient was a girl, no more than fifteen, with the most stunning red hair the doctor had ever seen before in his life. Her hair, however, would have been much more stunning if she hadn't been insistent upon gnawing it, causing her yellow teeth to become entangled with several of the strands. He also noticed that she had repeated scars on her arms, making her give off the scent of dry blood and saliva, which slurred together with her tongue and stained her black Rocket uniform a great deal.

He blinked slightly as she had caught him staring at her, and immediately averted his gaze as she emitted what suspiciously sounding like a Zubat's screech, making Dr. Craig thoroughly glad that a straight jacket too bounded her. She managed to roll on her side, so as to where her back was facing him and then began rubbing her wrists together, making them responsibly raw.

Dr. Craig must have fallen asleep after that, for when he woke up he noticed that the car had stopped, and the noise of keys rattling against someone's wrist could be heard coming directly outside of the truck. He had to close his eyes momentarily when the doors to the back of the truck were thrust open, revealing the rays of early morning and a driver who looked as if he had not shaven in over two weeks.

"Out," he muttered to several assistants of his that evidently were workers for the Rocket Asylum. They quickly did as they were told, and Dr. Craig was soon lifted unwillingly into the air and draped over one of the worker's broad shoulders, apparently thought unable to perform such a simple task as walking.

Therefore, followed by the girl who was also being carried by two of the assistants, he was carried into the Rocket Asylum, whose bright glass doors, once being given the proper code by the workers, opened easily.

If the morning light that had woken him hadn't been enough to blind Dr. Craig, the interior of the Rocket Asylum surely would. The walls were painted white, and although several of the corners suffered chipping, it gave an almost eerie appearance to the facility. A large fountain sat in the middle of the tiled lounge, and as Dr. Craig shifted his head slightly on the worker's shoulder, nearly sneezing as his nose brushed up against the man's hair that smelled suspiciously like smoke, he then noticed that the fountain suffered several dents. On closer inspection of the fountain that sported three Magikarp in the center, he came to the conclusion that the dents were obviously made by bullets.

The water that squirted out of the carved Magikarps' mouths was clean, perfectly mimicking the rest of the Asylum, but managed to spray onto the floor, leaving the area reasonably slippery. And just as the worker, with Dr. Craig promptly on his shoulder, passed the fountain, a loud screeching sound could be heard as the workers who had been carrying the girl tripped and fell, bring the girl down with them. She immediately stood back up, and surprisingly taking advantage of the men's fall, the girl proceeded to run toward the exit, her arms that were forcefully strapped to her chest swinging back and forth wildly. She stopped running however, when the Asylum worker that had been positioned at the check in counter stood up, and cocked a gun aimed directly at her head, which had turned around in an interested fashion at the noise of the weapon clicking. Without any hesitation the worker fired the gun, sending the bullet hurling into the girl's head, which rapidly split open on contact. He sat back down as if this was ordinary business, and placed the gun back into a compartment located in the desk.

"Oh my god!" Dr. Craig screamed, burying his face into the worker's shoulder as if for protection, feeling what he most certainly hoped wasn't the remains of the girl's brain splatter near him. Dr. Craig started to sob quietly, and obviously irritating the man who was carrying him, he was set down onto the floor, leaving him to vomit up what ever gelatin he had eaten the previous day.

He sat on the tiled floor and sobbed; ignoring the aggravated jerks he was receiving from the Asylum worker to get up so that it would be possible to mop up the yellow tinted vomit that surrounded the doctor on the floor.

In all his years he had worked within the Team Rocket organization, he had surprisingly never seen a human being killed in such a vicious and rather carefree manner. He supposed that being shut up in his lab for so many years had certainly decreased his viewing of human death, but even still, he had never once killed a Pokemon he had been experimenting on without feeling even the slightest bit of regret for the loss of life.

"Are you deaf? I said get up!" the Asylum worker that had been carrying him ordered, grabbing Dr. Craig's racking shoulders and hoisting him up to a standing position. "Don't take it so seriously, stuff like this happens all the time," he continued, speaking more slowly as if just remembering that the scientist he was dealing with had recently been declared insane. "Now come on, we need to get you checked in and inspected for weapons."

Dr. Craig nodded slowly, and as if in a daze followed the man to the check in counter.

"Name please," the worker said in a bored tone, impatiently tapping the tip of his pen against the check in form located on his desk.

Dr. Craig began to say his name, but found himself incapable of doing so as he heard the slightly disgusted groans of the janitors who were evidently in charge of cleaning up the girl's remains. Noting his difficulty, the worker who had brought him in answered swiftly: "William Craig."

"Current age?" the man continued, scratching his nearly illegible handwriting onto the document.

"Twenty seven," the worker said for Dr. Craig, who had recently just opened his mouth to speak, but left his jaw to hang.

"Place of birth?" he asked, tugging at his starch white jacket that had begun slipping of his shoulder, making Dr. Craig remotely jealous that he was even able to move his shoulder without pain.

He then noticed the amount of pain he was actually in. Either he had been too distracted to notice that sharp aching he was experiencing in his arms and shoulders that were agonizingly tied back, or the tranquillizer gun that had been used on him the night before was starting to ware off.

"Viridian City," the worker said, leaving Dr. Craig to give up on answering on his own.

"That's all we'll be needing for now," the man behind the desk started, opening the same compartment he had placed the gun in and causing Dr. Craig to flinch slightly. He put the information in the compartment and locked it, then said: "You will now be escorted for your weapon inspection."

Just as the man had said, Dr. Craig was soon led into a small room that much resembled something of a children doctor's office. He certainly felt like a child, in any case, for he not only was to be inspected for weapons but also was in need of a current physical for the Asylum. Therefore, he sat stiffly on a doctor's counter with his mouth open and his now dry tongue being firmly pressed with a cold medical utensil.

"Alright, that's all we need for your physical," the inspector, who apparently doubled as a doctor despite the very noticeable bloodstains throughout the room, commented.

"Okay," Dr. Craig sighed, very thankful to the fact that the procedure was now over. He had spent the last twenty minutes with this man, who had identified himself as Larry, and under no reasonable doubt was attempting to flirt with him.

"Here, let me get this off you," Larry said, swiftly unhooking the straight jacket from Dr. Craig's body and placing it next to him on the counter. "Go ahead and take off your clothes," the Weapon Inspector ordered, exiting the small room momentarily.

"Do… do what?" Dr. Craig asked while blushing slightly at what he assumed was the man's offer. "Why do I need to do that?"

"What do you think?" the Team Rocket agent asked sarcastically, swiftly pointing with his gloved finger to the small badge pinned unevenly on his uniform that read "Weapon Inspector."

"Oh, right…" Dr. Craig sighed, obliging by taking off his stained lab coat reluctantly.

"And don't worry too much," the agent added, beginning to close the door behind him, "I already have a boyfriend."

Dr. Craig refused the urge to vomit, instead allowing for his mouth to build up with saliva. He hastily removed his shirt and pants, permitting them to drop on the tiled floor.

The next hour or so was spent in the company of Larry, whose attempts to flirt with Dr. Craig had decreased once he had removed his clothing.

Once finished, Dr. Craig was fully clothed in his hospital robe, which gracefully slipped off his pale shoulders as he freely stretched, with his arms over his head while yawning lazily. He was exceedingly happy to be out of the straight jacket, but he had to massage his stomach every few minutes because the jacket had left his skin rather sore and a slight shade of pink.

He was now being escorted to his room by an Asylum employee, and was finding that he was having an increasingly harder time staying focused as he made his way down the hallway. Most of the rooms he passed were surrounded by a clear glass, used to easily monitor dangerous patients from out in the hallway instead of having the task of actually entering the room itself. From what Dr. Craig could tell, most of the rooms were completely sound proof from out in the long corridor, but he managed to hear the slightly faint screaming coming from behind one of the clear window panes.

The patient who was screaming sat in the middle of his room, swinging his surprisingly free legs wildly off the chair that he was positioned haphazardly on.

"Shouldn't, um, someone take care of him?" Dr. Craig asked, pausing momentarily in front of the room. The former Rocket's screaming increased as he noticed Dr. Craig was staring at him, and caused several cameras positioned in the corners of the room to turn to him and adjust their focus.

"No," the worker replied, urging Dr. Craig on with a sharp jab in the back using his clenched fist. "We don't bother with cases like him."

"I see," he said, rubbing his back slightly as the man's fist lost contact, his spine now sorer than it had been previously.

They continued walking until they reached what Dr. Craig guessed to be his room, and the worker confirmed his suspicions by swiftly tapping several numbers on a keypad fixed securely to the cold metal of the door. The door swung open on its own accord, and slowly shut again once Dr. Craig and the worker had stepped inside.

The room was essentially just like a large hospital ward, and backed up against the walls were six sets of cots, each occupying a snoozing former Rocket. One Rocket happened to be awake, and his head was buried in a book, which caused his matted brown hair to fall over his face and past his nose. His legs were crossed casually over one another, which allowed simply too much exposure of the man's body for Dr. Craig's liking since his Asylum dressing gown rode up his legs slightly. He looked toward Dr. Craig and nodded slightly, then continued reading.

"This will be your bed," the worker said, inclining his head slightly to a cot located in the far corner of the room. Dr. Craig moved to inspect it, noting that when he ran his hand over the covers that the sheets left his hand somewhat sticky, possibly from not yet dry blood.

He also noted that he had in fact drawn the attention of some of the other patients of the ward, all of which looked like they were wondering what on earth Dr. Craig was. He quickly directed several sharp glares at each of them, and then turned back to the worker, who looked somewhat surprised that the scientist seemed reasonable of logical thought.

"…If you need to use the bathroom, it's right there," he said, pointing a gloved finger toward the end of the ward where a restroom door was positioned, which swung open and revealed a fairly large man in his hospital robe.

The man's face brightened considerably after seeing the worker, and immediately dismissed his idea of returning to his cot and instead waddled to him, and then wrapped his arms around the worker in a very large hug.

"It's nice to see you too, Arnold," the worker said, giving the patient an awkward pat on the shoulder, then allowed him to retreat back to his cot.

"Anyway," the worker continued, appearing relatively uncomfortable at having come in contact with a patient from the ward, "you will be fed on regular intervals and if you need anything simply press the button located on your nightstand next to your bed."

"Alright," Dr. Craig said, feeling as if this was merely just a bad dream. He then remembered that he had packed a bag of clothing, but had not seen it since he had left the base the day before. "Have you any idea as to where my bag might be?" he asked, feeling rather stupid at having lost track of it. Then again, he supposed he had no choice in the matter to begin with.

"Yes, some Grunt came rushing after a few of our workers because of it, and caused a slight delay in your arrival," the worker replied, his tone sounding vaguely annoyed. "He seemed to really admire you, though. But we'll have the bag delivered to your ward by no later than tonight."

"It must have been Eric," Dr. Craig pondered to himself, and then felt a slight jolt in his heart that seemed similar to pride. But trying to not think about Headquarters or any thing in particular, the scientist merely nodded his head in response.

"You," the worker started again, placing a firm grip on the steel handle of the door as he turned to leave, "will be monitored _very_ closely. You're apparently more trouble then you're worth," he muttered to himself, exiting the ward and closing the door with a resounding click.

Dr. Craig, fully aware that nearly all of the wakened occupants of the ward's eyes were on him, plopped down on to his bed, allowing the sharp springs protruding from the cover to slightly dig into his pale, unclothed legs. Once upon sitting down, he immediately wrapped the covers around him, his teeth chattering violently. It was surprisingly cold for the number of bodies in the ward, and he felt slightly unwell as he noticed a bucket he assumed was for vomiting located next to his cot. It was like he was being urged to feel sick.

"So, what are you in here for?"

Dr. Craig's head snapped up immediately, causing his black bangs to become entangled with his glasses that now hung insecurely off his left ear. He readjusted his glasses so as to where they were firmly resting on the bridge of his nose, then looked at the cot to his right to find the source of the question and the rather deep voice.

It was the man who had acknowledged him earlier, his book now resting at the edge of his bed. Before answering him, Dr. Craig quickly glanced over the cover of the novel, finding that it most likely dealt with some type of warriors.

"What's wrong? Can't you talk?" the man smirked, allowing for the book to slip off the side of his bed and hit the tiled floor with a slight clang.

"Of course I can," Dr. Craig retorted, already beginning to slightly detest the Rocket, but seeing as there was no one else to talk to, he responded to the man's earlier question with: "I lost the Boss' present for his fiancée."

"Is that it? You know, I believe I've heard about you. Become pretty unpopular among the organization, haven't you?"

"I suppose I have…" Dr. Craig muttered, tightening his grip on the sheets that were entangled with his now sweaty palms.

"And I've heard several Rockets that were sane enough to talk amongst themselves mention you. Dr. William Craig, isn't it?" he asked, extending his hand as if he wanted to shake the scientist's. "I'm Mike."

"H – Hello," Dr. Craig said stiffly, shaking Mike's hand and purposely digging his uncut fingernails into the flesh of his palm. "Why are you here?" he asked, partially wondering if the man he was shaking hands with was completely insane.

"I murdered my partner," he said casually, a small smirk pulling at the corners of his pale lips as Dr. Craig instantly dropped his hand.

"You… you did what?" Dr. Craig asked, starting to feel incredibly uncomfortable being in the presence of Mike.

"I murdered my partner," he repeated, propping his head up slightly with his unclean pillow. "You talk like you've never even heard of a murder before. I mean, it happens quite often in Team Rocket."

Dr. Craig supposed he was right. After all, he himself had nearly been the victim of murder a little over two weeks ago, and he decided that it was nearly unfair to judge Mike on his crime, but still he felt the need to further entangle his upper body with his sheets as the former Rocket continued on with his rather gruesome story.

The soft ticking of the wall clock revealed that Mike's account had lasted nearly an hour, and Dr. Craig felt somewhat ill in knowing that the man lying next to him had stabbed his partner repeatedly over something so trivial as slight jealousy.

"She put up a very good fight, she did, and in the end I had to use my Nidorino's horn attack to get her to shut up for good," Mike finished, looking as if he were truly enjoying the scientist's reactions to his crime.

Dr. Craig partially wondered if Eric had been the one to burn her body, and letting his curiousness take control of him inquired, "What did you do with the body?"

"Burned it myself, of course." He chuckled a bit then continued to say, "You know that kid that's in charge of the incinerator?"

"Yes, I know him pretty well, actually," Dr. Craig said, his thin black eyebrows rising slightly at having been a little surprised that this Rocket knew whom Eric was.

"Well, the kid is so absent minded," Mike grinned, drumming his fingers in a rhythmic style against the metal siding of his cot, "that he actually forgot to lock that incinerator. So, seeing as no one was around at the time, I just slipped her body in there with no one noticing. Although, a camera must have picked it up or someone turned me in seeing as I'm here now," he said, laughing as if he was telling a great joke that only he found funny.

Dr. Craig found that his mouth was opening almost unwillingly in order to defend Eric from being called absent minded, although he knew it was probably true, but stopped when the door to their ward was opened and shut again. An Octillery was standing by the closed door with several trays of food balanced evenly on the tip of each of its arms, the yellow suction cup attached to its body providing some support as it slid across the tiled floor, leaving a small trail of smudged, jet black ink as it went.

"Oc," it said, as one of its red tinted arms shoved a tray of food into Dr. Craig's lap as it reached his cot, leaving the fork placed haphazardly on the metal tray to quiver carelessly.

"Um, thank you," he said genially, but then eyed the food slopped in the tray rather disdainfully, as several bits dripped slowly off the side and formed a small puddle in Dr. Craig's lap, making his hospital robe dirty. At least it was something other than gelatin, he supposed.

Despite the meal, he was a bit amazed at the Asylum's obedience training for their Pokemon. Although he had tried terribly hard, he had never once been able to tame any of the Pokemon, normal and hybrids alike, to a point where they would obey his every command. But, he did have to remember; Team Rocket did specialize in Pokemon enslavement, after all. Perhaps he was merely an exception.

Dr. Craig began eating his food, watching in slight amusement as the Octillery attempted to persuade Arnold, who was lying in the cot across from his own, to eat the food it was offering. He simply refused to eat, and although Arnold's words were mumbled together in an almost incoherent way, Dr. Craig managed to make out the words "I'd rather eat Miltank dung."

"Idiot," Dr. Craig heard Mike whisper from over on his own bed, glancing up from the book he was reading and flick his brown eyes almost disgustedly over Arnold. "That fat tub of lard knows we don't get much to eat." He chuckled to himself again. "I suppose he wouldn't need it. And I wouldn't eat all that now if I were you," he warned, looking toward Dr. Craig who had just settled on placing his fork in his mouth.

"Why not? The worker said we were fed at repeated intervals," he protested, hearing the door shut with some difficulty as the trail of ooze left by the Octillery got caught in its steel hinges.

Mike answered simply by lifting his sheets that had been hanging loosely off the side of his bed, and pointed to a small stash of the same food placed in several cracked, paper cups stored under his bed.

"Wouldn't the Asylum employees notice that you have food hidden?" he asked, gingerly placing his tongue on the slop that sat on the edge of his fork.

"Please, they never come to check up on us. As far as they're concerned, we're just a way to get paychecks from Giovanni," Mike answered, in a sour yet nearly wise tone.

"Oh," Dr. Craig said weakly.

When he thought about it, Mike seemed to be right. The way that girl had been shot when he had checked in was still making his stomach churn. They didn't care about their patients at all.

"And did you notice how happy Arnold got when he saw the employee? That's because he hasn't seen anybody that isn't kept in these four wall, in about, oh, _four months_," he said, holding up four slim fingers in order to show emphasis.

"Are you serious?" Dr. Craig asked. "They don't check up on us for that long?"

"Just about," Mike said, leaving Dr. Craig to wonder if the Rocket was merely trying to scare him. But there seemed to be a bitter air in the way he spoke, making the scientist confirm his statements were true. "Sometimes longer," he continued, wiping at his lips in order to get the remainder of the food he had just sampled off his thin, pale face.

"That's insane," Dr. Craig said, looking down at his own stomach as it gave off a loud grumble. In an almost childlike fascination, Mike leaned across his bed and the space set between the two cots, and lightly poked Dr. Craig in the stomach, as if inspecting it.

"Don't worry, I can give you some of my saved food," he told Dr. Craig, who had immediately leaned back slightly as Mike's prodding had continued. "With how skinny you are you wouldn't last more then a few weeks without some food." To verify this, he leaned further over and slightly lifted up Dr. Craig's hospital robe, and lightly massaged his belly and gave the scientist a confirming nod of his head. "Yes, you'll definitely need some of my food."

"…Okay, thanks," Dr. Craig said, grateful to the fact that the lower portion of his body was concealed within his sheets.

"You have soft skin," Mike said rather randomly, then leaned back onto his own bed and picked up his book once again.

Dr. Craig blinked slightly, but decided not to press on the issue, as Mike now seemed quite absorbed within the pages of his novel.

* * *

A morning of the following week, Dr. Craig's eyes fluttered open to blurrily reveal an Ekans, its tail rattling in time to the surprised shriek from the scientist as his vision came completely into focus. 

"What's your problem?" Mike asked, rolling over on his stomach and covering his head with the dirty pillow that depicted an image of a Nidorino as his bed creaked somewhat under the slight weight of the former Rocket.

Dr. Craig swiftly pointed to the Pokemon on his covered legs, its purple, unpleasantly cold skin sliding along his bed as it gave off a hiss, which caused the paper letter clutched between its sharp teeth to fall unto the covers as its forked tongue protruded from its mouth.

"Oh, that," Mike said tonelessly. "That's the delivery Pokemon for the Asylum. Odd that it got in here so early though, normally they don't allow it down the wards in the morning unless it's pretty urgent," he said, stretching in his bed to the point where his legs swung unenthusiastically off the end.

"Could you have possibly been any louder?" one of the occupants of the ward shouted from her bed, the noise of her feet sliding of the cot evident as she continued down to the bathroom. This patient, contrasting Mike, was incredibly irritated that another person had been placed in their ward. She often complained about the disturbance Dr. Craig made, and constantly reminded him of something that resembled a Pikachu, in an attempt, that most certainly worked, to annoy the scientist further.

The pair ignored her comment, and continued to curiously watch the snake Pokemon slither off of Dr. Craig's bed and down the ward, leaving the door to open by itself and nearly slam on the Pocket Monster's tail, which gave off an irritated rattle as the door closed shut.

"So, go ahead and open it," Mike said, shifting his weight slightly in order to see the letter more clearly, which was of course sealed with the infamous R.

As Dr. Craig placed his thinning hands on the edge of the paper, he indistinctively found himself drawing back, coiling his fingers to reach his palm. This was the same kind of document Brian had showed him a little over a week ago, and just the sight of it made his face grow paler still.

"You don't suppose it's from Giovanni, do you?" Dr. Craig asked quietly, holding up the letter so that his nose nearly brushed up against it and then tilted his head back slightly, attempting for the bright lighting of the ward to see through the envelope, but to no avail, considering most if not all Team Rocket's documents were undetectable unless opened.

"I don't think it could be from anyone else," Mike answered plainly, unwrapping himself from the sheets of his bed and instead situated himself onto Dr. Craig's, a slight habit he formed since the time of the scientist's arrival.

Dr. Craig was jolted slightly by the sudden change of weight, and nearly fell off the cot as Mike insisted upon taking the envelope from him and examining it himself. "Yes, this is certainly from Giovanni," he said, the clarity in his voice somewhat lost since he had acquired a bit of a head cold a few days prior. He then reached over to his own nightstand and withdrew several tissues from the tissue box sitting on the furniture and blew his nose, leaving Dr. Craig to quickly snatch the envelope back from him as it nearly fell to the floor.

"So, what are you waiting for? Open it," he ordered, lightly massaging the tip of his nose with the tissue.

"Right," Dr. Craig sighed, evenly scraping his nail under the seal in order to break it. The letter opened on its own accord, and Mike, who had been leaning across Dr. Craig's bed to read it, sneezed promptly upon seeing the bottom of the memo as if almost due to shock.

"What? What is it?" Dr. Craig asked, and Mike quickly shoved the letter back to the scientist.

He hurriedly scanned the document, and upon reading it sunk back onto his covers. The Boss wanted him to pay for the damage he caused during his project, which included the money for the truck he had been using to deliver Pikachu, the slight damage done to the laboratory he had been using, not to mention the money for the cage. All of this equaled to around eight thousand dollars, which was worth a large amount of Dr. Craig's paycheck, although he wouldn't receive it until he possibly returned to Headquarters.

"You're going to be paying for all this stuff for quite a long time," Mike commented, retreating back to his own bed once again and curled up as to go back to sleep, which was nearly the only thing available for any of them to do. "Talk about adding insult to injury."

Dr. Craig was emotionally tired and had absolutely no desire to dwell on finances at the moment. He allowed for the letter to fall down unto the floor as he repositioned his legs on the bed, and almost immediately feel back asleep as the soft snoring coming from Mike had a virtually rhythmic effect.

He wasn't aware of how long he had slept, but Mike and told him that when he had awoken he had been quite surprised, because he had been certain that the scientist had somehow died in his sleep, leading Dr. Craig to believe he had been resting for hours.

While ignoring the sharp pain in his stomach from lack of food, he slowly dragged himself to the very dim bathroom, which was only for one occupant's use. The truth was he didn't requireusing the restroom at all, and once upon arriving there merely stood in front of the cracked mirror and lightly massaged his face, which had a reasonable amount of excess skin on it now from losing weight.

He shook his head slowly in order to revive himself, and then carefully brought a hand to the lower section of one of his eyes and pulled it down slightly, finding that when he did so most of his eye was completely bloodshot, leaving what looked like red veins to meet his black pupil. He groaned lightly in the back of his throat, and began to walk out of the bathroom when his attention was placed back to the mirror.

Although the mirror was cracked a great deal, he had only just now noticed in what way it was cracked. He found that when he traced the patterns of the fractures on the mirror with his finger that it formed what fairly resembled a Pikachu.

Dr. Craig blinked rapidly in order to get the image out of his mind, but when he opened his eyes again established that the image was not of his imagination.

"Pikachu," he muttered, and allowing for his fatigue to finally get the best of him, he slumped over onto the sink that was fixed into the wall directly below the mirror, allowing for his head to roll uselessly into the small amount of dirty water that had not been drained and was filling up a minor portion of the sink. His breathing slowly decreased, and the feeble pressure against the water caused it to bubble up slightly as his breathing nearly gave out. He indistinctively pulled his head out of the water and propped his chin up on the edge of the sink, permitting for his damped black hair to slowly fall into his open mouth. His uncovered knees were resting on the bathroom floor, and the slight prick of the cold tiles caused him to once again look up at the Pikachu feebly carved into the glass of the mirror.

"Damn you, Pikachu."

* * *

Yay!

This was my favorite chapter to write by far. I found the Rocket Asylum very interesting, and I hope the ending was a good effect, because those words will come up later, just from someone else entirely.

In the next three chapters, you'll get a point of view from Pikachu, Ash, and the Team Rocket we all know and love... Jessie, James, and Meowth!

I've also started to write continuation side stories featuring The Pikachu Project, and once this is finished, let me know if you all want them posted or not!

Long Live The Boss,

Tear22


	8. The Domino Effect

The Pikachu Project: Chronicles, Part One

The Domino Effect

(A continuation strictly off the happenings of Dr. William Craig)

Author's Notes: Wow... This took way longer than it should have. So, anyway, this next part is telling a bit more about Pikachu, and its thoughts on being captured.

Summary: After escaping its creator, Pikachu is being threatened with what it hates most: confinement.

* * *

****

**The Pikachu Project**

**By: Tear22 **

**Pikachu **

Pikachu sprinted the streets of Pallet Town, its frayed tail batting heatedly as it silently dodged the wooden wheels of a cart that was lazily being pushed along the stone paved streets of the town's small market. It quickly took shelter under a small booth and upon doing so settled down unto a crinkled newspaper to wait for the person to pass.

The person that had been pushing the cart stopped walking and removed the large straw hat from his head, allowing for the harsh sun to glare down on his thick, graying hair. He looked around slightly but shrugged when he saw and heard nothing else, other than the childish laughter coming from the market's occupants as people continued with their shopping.

He continued on his way, and deciding against heading back to his Pokemon laboratory, began in the direction of Delia's house, figuring she was in need of some much desirable comfort after the recent loss of her fiancée.

It had become common knowledge that her partner had left her just a few days ago, and had disappeared in a terribly drunken state. According to rumor, however, he had given her a very sufficient amount of funds to support their only child, Ash, the one that had been born at least three years before either of them had even considered marrying each other.

Pikachu stuck its head out from under the deserted booth, and sighed in relief as it noticed that the man was leaving, the apples placed in his cart bouncing slightly as the wheels hit the stone ground impatiently.

Pikachu decided it was best to wait under the booth for the remainder of the day, becoming very impatient as the town's residents lingered in the market for more hours than it had expected. It settled back onto the soiled newspaper it had been laying on, angling its black tipped ears downward. Pikachu's ears sprang up, however, when it noticed what was plastered on the newspaper.

Depicted on the newspaper was an image of itself, looking much angrier than usual. Pikachu wasn't aware that it had attracted so much attention, and had spent its time since its escape trying to do just the opposite. Pikachu never was fully able to understand human emotions, and wondered how they were allowing themselves to become so angry at it so quickly. Sure, Pikachu admitted to possibly ruining a few windows with a thundershock attack, and it had even stole some scraps of food, but nothing it thought was unfixable or worth of such aggravation.

Pikachu considered it best to continue on to the surrounding routes that were located directly outside of the town. It began running out of the market, the string of flickering lights that were woven skillfully against the booths' roofs guiding it as it went.

By the time Pikachu had reached the route it had intended, the moon's light was glaring through the dieing blades of tall grass that surrounded it. The electric rodent lowered its pointed tail protectively under its small body, allowing for the soft chirping of the route's bug Pokemon inhabitants to drift it off into a dreamless sleep.

It woke the next morning to the soft rustling coming from the tall patches of grass. With a swift flick of its ears, Pikachu stood up and willingly allowed several sparks to emit from its crimson cheeks as the surrounding grass was parted and then revealed an older man.

The man in question looked quite pleased with himself, and the lab coat hanging insecurely off his shoulders blew slightly as the morning wind picked up and died again. He removed a Pokeball from the gray belt strapped loosely off his hips, and Pikachu noticed that it displayed a yellow lightning bolt on the red portion of the capsule.

Pikachu backed away slightly, digging its small, sharp claws into the damp ground as it did so. With a slight snarl on its face, Pikachu released a small amount of static electricity in order to knock the Pokeball from the human's hand.

The Pokeball flew several feet and landed with a small crack on the ground, but was inevitably protected from unwillingly opening by the dieing yet somewhat soft blades of grass protruding from the dirt ground.

The man swiftly went after the Pokeball, and Pikachu took this as the perfect time to escape. It had managed to get several feet away from the human, but was stopped when it found that several hard feathers were colliding with its back. Pikachu turned around to face a Spearow, which had obviously been just released by the human.

Pikachu growled deeply in the back of its throat and once again released a thundershock attack in an attempt to shut the bird Pokemon up, which had been emitting a series of screeches as it started to dive in for another attack.

Seeing that it was about to get shocked, the Spearow tilted its wings upward so that it allowed for it to immediately rise back up into the air. This caused Pikachu's attack to miss, and in the brief moment that it was bewildered, the Pokemon dived down again and struck the rodent with its hardened wings. The force in the attack produced the right amount of air under the bird's wings so that it was jolted up in the air again with ease.

"That's the way, Spearow!" Pikachu heard the man call to his Pokemon as it gracefully landed on his shoulder and slightly dug its sharp talons into the human's covered skin affectionately.

Pikachu attempted to get up but found that it was having a hard time standing, feeling that the fatigue of eating nothing but small scraps of food finally had set in.

It had traveled, after all, quite a long distance after it had escaped from that other human. And now, as the older person stood near it with a look of triumph as he raised an enlarged Pokeball in his hands, Pikachu simply wished it hadn't left the other human at all.

Pikachu felt the cold metal of the Pokeball hit its fur covered skin, and with a small cry of joy from the man, was imprisoned in the capsule as the ball shook on the ground slightly. Itthen finished swerving as it gave off a resounding click.

This, by all means, was a much worse place than the cage the electric rodent had been forced to stay in previously.

Professor Oak stepped over to the Pokeball, allowing for his light brown boots to flatten the wilting blades of grass as he went. With an appearance of extreme satisfaction, he picked up the capsule, strapped it to the remaining frayed hook of his belt, and continued back to his lab, the Pokemon located in the ball shifting its cramped position all the way.

* * *

Yay. Two more of these left, and then hopefully some side stories. The next one will feature Ash, and his thoughts on Pikachu when he first gets it, and about his missing father. Then on to Jessie and James' side of the story! Woo.

Thanks to everyone that has stuck around for so long. I really love you all.

Till Next Time,

Tear22


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